“Please,” the voice says. “Over here.”
She finds the source.
Martin.
Some features are correct. His height, as it would be in four feet of water. The neat line of a fresh haircut traced into his sunburned neck. His long eyelashes. Everything else Petra pulls from other places. A face that can’t seem to be ignored these days, some Ryan Hales pops up in Martin’s jaw and eyebrows. Cameron’s freckles. The lips of an actor she saw in a commercial playing on repeat in the hospital. All of it pasted together to complete her version of Martin.
She sprints over, ignoring the complaints and slaps along the way. When she reaches him, she kneels. Her feet are damaged beyond repair, and her shins and knees begin to burn, too, flesh crackling under the invisible flames.
“I’m stuck,” Martin says.
“So am I,” she answers, using a voice so small it barely registers. Pain is diminishing her ability to speak.
“No. I’m stuck.”
She leans back, puzzled.
“I can’t wake up,” he adds.
The burning intensifies. Petra fights to find the words she needs. “Of course not,” she says. “You’re in my dream.”
Martin leans back as if he’s lost his balance.
Staying in one place for this long has made the pain unbearable. Petra grabs at her throat, finding emptiness where sound should come out. She’s wants to say more, but she can’t. Everything hurts too much.
Martin tries to reach for her. His hand gets so close. An inch away. “I’m all right,” she mumbles, seeing his outstretched fingers through the slits in her own. “You’re the one everyone should be worried about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your accident,” she whispers.
“Petra!” she hears from someplace outside this pool. “Wake up!”
She begins to shake.
12
“Petra! Wake up! I need you to…help me put on some aloe in the bathroom,” Cameron says, shaking me. Her figure blocks out the sun. She tugs at my arm until I stand to shake off my drowsiness.
I must’ve dozed off.
“Oh,” I say in reaction to Turrey lying on his stomach next to me. His shirt is now a pillow, leaving his back fully exposed.
“Yeah,” Cameron answers.
“Where is everybody?”
“Putting on aloe. Come on.”
I follow her into the guesthouse, and she drags me into the bathroom. It’s Cameron, Aminah, Daniel, me, a toilet, a sink, and not an inch to spare.
“What’s going on?” Aminah whispers.
“What do you mean?”
“What is Michael Turrey doing here?” Daniel snips, a quick scissor cut into our conversation.
“He drove me home. He’s your neighbor.”
“I’m very aware.”
“Do you hate him?”
“No,” Daniel snips again.
“What did I do?”
Aminah pinches me. “You’re losing your mind!” she says. “I ask again. What is going on with you?”
“Nothing!” I shout.
Aminah glares at me. “You’ve been weird all week. Maybe all year, if I’m being honest. This is so not nothing!”
I hope for Cameron to be on my side, to take Aminah up on the fight she’s angling for—I’m never the source of these things; I never get involved—but right now she’s a silent fourth wheel, smashed into the door. She is applying aloe. At least that’s true.
“You don’t know Martin,” Daniel says. His snips are getting bigger. The scissor is dangerously close to making a real cut.
“So what? Why can’t I be supportive?”
“You visited him in the hospital! People are still saying he could die, wishing they could see him again, and you actually did it. You took away time that someone who knows him could’ve used!” The words sting. Even more when it registers that they came from Cameron, who never involves me. Who never makes me the source of these things.
I look up, finding all their eyes coating me with guilt.
• • •
It’s not my dream.
I’m trying to let that sink in and become something I can actually believe. For some reason, it still makes more sense that I’m the one that’s dreaming. And shit, maybe I am. If that car accident really happened, I am asleep. Just not the kind of asleep I thought I was.
Okay, not if.
Because that car accident happened.
• • •
“Do we have to do this in the bathroom?” I ask.
“You really want to talk about this in front of his friend?” Aminah questions.
“I thought you were ignoring him because you liked him?” I ask, trying to turn the tables on her.
“I was ignoring him because I thought it was really weird that you brought him here!”
“Aminah and I leave for school in a little over a month. Forgive us for being selfish and wanting to be around our best friend,” Cameron says to me. She lays her head on my shoulder and pets my arm, knowing her guilt trip really stung me.
“It’s our last summer. Let’s not be wasting it on Michael Turrey,” Daniel adds. “And Martin Fly or whoever. Yes, it’s sad. Yes, you should feel bad. But no, you should not throw yourself into his life.”
I salute him, opting out of words for fear of their inappropriate anger.
“Good. Now that we’ve settled that,” Daniel says, “we need to come up with a way to kick Michael out of my backyard.”
• • •
Somehow I’m in some gray, endless, nothing place between life and you know, and somehow I’m getting into people’s dreams. Spencer and Turrey. And Petra. The girl on my mind when that car came barreling into my side.
She’s dreaming of me.
I stood in the shallow end of a pool filled with strangers. They were yelling at her. Criticizing her for ruining their fun. I called out to her to let her know I was there, and she rushed over. In the weirdest way, she reminded me of my sister’s cat. Like you could tell she pounced, but only when she had to, and never for more than she needed. It could’ve been the way she was positioned, balancing on all fours on the water’s surface, her head cocked to one side, pain keeping her from relaxing.
The only thoughts I got out to her were “I’m stuck” and “I can’t wake up,” like they somehow summed up everything that’s been happening to me. Whatever it is about Petra that makes her radiate—the glow stick she must’ve swallowed to make her burn so bright—was pointed in my direction. It lit me up too, and I swear she could see every single part of my entire being. Everything I really wanted to say disappeared. I wanted to deny that it was her dream or help her out of the pool so it wouldn’t hurt her anymore or stop the people around us from yelling, but I didn’t. I was like a caveman marveling at fire.
It does make me feel better to know I’m not the one imagining her in pain, but it hurts to know she’s imagining herself that way.
I have to keep reminding myself: it’s not my dream.
But it is my reality.
I can’t forget that.
13
We sit in Daniel’s kitchen, sulking around his island, already complaining about what’s to come. We’re momentarily ignoring the Turrey problem that was once so pressing I needed to be woken from sleep to address it. Hopefully ignoring the me problem forevermore.
“Our dorm room seriously goes from here,” Cameron declares to Daniel, standing up to take a few steps forward, “to here. It’s nuts.”
“It’s not that bad,” Aminah says. She glares at Cameron. “At least we have each other. We could be living with a stranger.”
This is one of those random transitional conversations meant to ease the tension of the fight we just had minutes ago. For them, it might be working. For me, a liv
e wire has been cut, and it sparks around inside of me. Annoyance and Martin and algebra and scholarships and Martin and algebra and money and anger and Martin and scholarships and frustration and algebra and Ryan and money and Martin and algebra and failure and—wait. Wait. No.
No Ryan.
Daniel gives me a look like, Can you believe these two? “You guys are the worst. I haven’t even gotten my roommate yet. I could be living with an ax murderer.” He keeps looking at me, expecting my scowl to rework itself into a pitying smile. “So could Petra.”
“Well, I toured Notre Dame with Petra. The dorm rooms there aren’t nearly as small as ours,” Cameron adds. “If Petty Pet bunks her bed, she’ll have plenty of room to hide from her ax-murdering roommate.”
Now everyone is doing the thing where they use my name to get me to participate in the conversation. I know their hearts are in the right place, but for once, I don’t care to pretend.
Guilt wears on me. For bumming around. For opening and closing the refrigerator door at my leisure. Asinine everyday behaviors usually taken for granted. All the things I do to avoid my problems. All the things Martin can’t do at all.
Shirtless Turrey slides open the screen door before Cameron can ask me what’s really wrong. The swooshing sound of his intrusion cuts through the invisible barrier my friends thought they hung in the air. This is what happens when you stop paying attention to your problems. They keep showing up.
“What’s up in here?” Turrey asks.
“Cooling off,” Cameron says. She offers him a cup, which he takes. He grabs the pitcher of iced tea sitting on the counter and begins pouring.
Aminah lurks by the fridge, shifting from side to side, her eyes skewering Turrey’s every movement. “What are you doing here?”
Turrey puts down his cup. He maintains steady eye contact with Aminah as she fidgets. “Getting a drink.”
“We don’t know you,” Aminah responds.
Awkward explodes.
Daniel somehow slipped out of the room. Even my detective skills missed it. Cameron and I, surrounded by the smell of organic kitchen-cleaning products and the draft of open windows, are helpless spectators to this unexpected face-off.
“I’ve been Daniel’s neighbor my whole life,” Turrey tells her.
“I’ve got lots of neighbors. Don’t know the first thing about them. And there’s probably almost six hundred people in our graduating class that I don’t know either.”
“Well, I know Daniel.”
“That’s doubtful.”
“Is it?”
Quiet settles in. Aminah considers her rebuttal, squinting her eyes to see him in a new way. “Shouldn’t you be with your friend at the hospital?”
It’s a low blow, and we all know it.
I wince. Cameron winces. Aminah tries to stand tall, but her chest caves in.
“Maybe I’ve had a long twenty-four hours, and I just wanna sit by the pool and take a break for a second because one of my best friends could die, and I can’t do shit about it.” He sits down on the bar stool next to me. “I know I don’t really know you guys. That’s kinda the point. I can’t be around my bullshit group right now.”
Tasered by his words, Aminah fumbles for a chair, guilty.
• • •
Here’s the simplest, silliest thing I want right now: my damn sandwich. Spitty has to buy it. He owes me. He let a car ram into my body. The least I’d expect is a sub.
Ugh.
I guess I don’t know how any of this works. Am I waiting for people to go to sleep? Think of me? How much time has passed? Can I really let myself believe this is a real thing that’s happening to me?
Mama Dorothy hates sleep. She thinks it’s a waste of time. She probably doesn’t use up any brainpower on dreaming. Maybe Dad. He’s been a light sleeper ever since the back injury though. That man caught me every single time I ever snuck out, even the time I taped pillows to my feet so he wouldn’t hear my footsteps.
Katie? Bet I’d get a good part in a Katie dream. What if it’s a sex one though? The last thing I want is to be watching my sister get down with her husband in the bleachers while I’m stuck singing “Go Cubs Go.” Why do I feel like that’s what all her dreams are like? Horrific. I guess I’m glad I haven’t had to deal with that.
Okay, that’s a lie. I’d put up with my worst nightmare just to be able to let her know that I’m here. To let anyone know I’m here.
Where do they even think I am?
• • •
The single most valuable talent Cameron possesses—above good studying habits and being sentimental without being overbearing—is her ability to revive dead conversations. It must be eating her up inside that she hasn’t figured out how to crack my sour mood because she goes overboard on Turrey. She drills him with the strangest of inquiries, playing on the innocence she knows she exudes, acting like she doesn’t know anything when she has a pretty good idea about it all, but making Turrey both so confused and so filled with a desire to make her understand that he forgets there was ever a problem. Or decides it’s easier to keep moving along. Either way, Cameron makes it work, and I can see in her swelling smile what joy it gives her. We listen to Turrey detail with great specificity what it was like to play two winter sports at the same time his sophomore year.
It shouldn’t work, but it does. The tension wafts out of the kitchen.
It’s rare for Aminah to embarrass herself. She wears the shame like a heavy cloak. For penance, she offers to make everyone a drink, digging into the pantry for a margarita mix and some tequila.
“I’m not touching that stuff right now,” Turrey says.
“I can make food or something,” Aminah adds.
“I’m good.” Turrey nods. He does a finger point between him and Aminah. “We’re good.”
Aminah gives him a solemn nod in return.
“I’ll take a drink,” Cameron says.
“You’re cut off,” Aminah tells her. “The fact that you started an hour ago, by yourself no less, is sad enough.”
Daniel is still missing in action. I don’t interrupt the conversation—it’s nice not to be the point of interest—to ask where he went. I just text him.
Where did you go?
To my room
Okay
But why
Too complicated to explain right now
I told you guys we needed to make Turrey leave!
Find a way to make it happen
Please
…Okay?
I’ll try
Daniel Stetson doesn’t usually miss situations like this. He is a long-limbed bird of a man, always perched in the spot with the best view of the action. Almost encyclopedic in his abilities, he can open the yearbook and spout off at least one thing about any of the 868. He’s like a heart monitor, hooked up to the beat of our school, finding a thrill in documenting not only irregularities, but average rhythm too. Yet I can’t recall a single time Daniel ever mentioned knowing Michael Turrey, even when we snuck into that Turrey family party.
“Oh my God!” I lead with, dousing the last word in urgency.
Cameron sways in her chair like she’s now buzzed on my fake burst of energy.
I rub a space on my left index finger, as if plagued by a newfound vacancy there. “I left my…grandmother’s ring at the hospital,” I lie.
“What ring?” Aminah asks. Her left eyebrow arches. Suspicion replaces her last lingering bits of embarrassment. I’m not a jewelry wearer.
I opt to avoid her question, instead looking at Turrey. “Would you mind taking me back to find it?” I can both help Daniel and avoid dealing with my friends. It’s perfect.
Aminah interrupts before Turrey can answer. “I forgot to say that Daniel thinks he broke his toe, and he wants Petra to go upstairs and look at it. She took a first aid class, so�
��”
She knows I’m lying, and I know she’s lying, but we give each other our best poker faces, knowing Turrey is still an elephant in the room, and we can’t let him in on the intricate dynamics at play here.
Turrey scrutinizes both of our features. He also knows we’re lying. “Guess I should head back. Gotta be there for Fly, even if I don’t wanna deal with everybody else. I’ll look around. What kind of ring is it?”
“It’s a purple square amethyst on a gold band,” I make up, merging my birthstone with my mom’s wedding ring.
Turrey finishes his iced tea, then pulls out his phone so we can exchange numbers. “Tell Daniel I was here,” he says as he stands up to exit. He walks out the back door and grabs his shirt from the pool’s edge.
As Turrey moves from Daniel’s yard into his own, I call out, “I’ll be back soon.”
He turns back and gives me a wave.
“Pet-ra,” Cameron says, slicing my name into two sharp syllables. “Will you please just talk to us about whatever’s going on with you?”
• • •
Wherever this is, it’s not the same as it was before. The grayness is changing. There’s no thing, no place, no idea like this. It eats up all I see or feel the instant it happens, and everything that happens morphs into something else before I can figure out what came before. If I could hold on to the changes for more than a fraction of a second, maybe I could better explain. All I know is I’m becoming less. Or more.
Either my eyes are about to open or they are closed tighter than they’ve ever been.
• • •
“Daniel!” I call out. “The coast is clear.”
Cameron sighs. “Hold on a second,” she says to me. “I’m sorry we ambushed you earlier. We were just worried. Please talk to us.”
The staircase creaks in a cautious way, steady steps tiptoeing down. Daniel pops out, wearing black swim trunks to match his black hair. He moves with suspicion, sizing up chairs and pantry doors for hiding spot potential.
What You Left Me Page 7